Mrs Next Door's Day
by Skruvsta
Summary: The tale of a fateful day from the POV of a neighbouring muggle. Featuring the Dursleys and an OC.


A/N: Thanks to dogstar for the beta & to the rest of the Queens for being awesome.

"_Mrs Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learnt a new word ('Shan't!')."_

_Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone – pg10 (UK)_

"What does it say about me that I hate a one and a half year old child?" Janet Richards asked her husband.

"If it's the dreaded Dudley you're talking about, I'd say it shows you're a normal person," he replied absently between bites of toast.

Janet sighed and sipped at her tea. She held her mug close, letting the warmth spread into her hands. Her gaze slipped across the room, from the rustling newspaper behind which her husband sat, to the pile of dry dishes beside the sink, to the busy, overflowing notice board and the calendar hanging on the wall. Janet gulped down the last dregs of her tea and began to clear up the kitchen. The mess three people could make at breakfast was quite astonishing. She turned on the hot water and poured washing up liquid into the sink. Janet began to remove the dishes from last night's dinner which overcrowded the draining board.

By the time this was done and the draining board was clear and ready for another load of wet dishes, the sink was full of soapy water.

"Are you still playing golf on Friday?" asked Janet, picking up a mug and plunging it into the hot water.

"Yes, with Alan," replied George.

Janet continued to wash up.

"You are such a good wife to me," said George suddenly.

Janet smiled over her shoulder. "What makes you say that?" she asked.

"Well," said George, standing up and slipping his arms around her waist, "It's barely gone eight o'clock in the morning and you're washing up in your dressing gown and organising my week for me," he lowered his voice to continue, "And you look as sexy as ever."

Janet gave a very unattractive snort. "How flattering," she said sarcastically. She half turned and daubed bubbles on his nose with her fingers. "Now go to work and earn some money."

George grumpily wiped the bubbles from his nose and sauntered out of the room.

Janet smiled to herself as she finished off the washing up. Looking out of the window, she noticed the grey, overcast sky. Winter was really setting in now. She sighed. Winter wasn't her favourite season. It seemed to reflect everything bad about life. The rain, the snow, the cold, the wind – Janet despised it. In winter, there was nothing better than curling up near the fire with a mug of hot chocolate. She could almost feel the warmth spreading to her toes right now. A large bird flew past the window, shattering Janet's moment. She blinked and put the last mug on the draining board.

She pulled the plug and dried her hands on a towel, replacing it neatly afterwards. As she was putting the milk and jam from the table back in to the fridge, George came back into the kitchen, wearing a jacket and carrying a briefcase.

"I'm off," he announced, giving Janet a quick kiss on the lips.

George stood up. "You ready?" he called out. A loud affirmative floated back through the door. He gave Janet a roll of the eyes and made his way out of the room.

"Have a good day at school, Anna," Janet called to her daughter.

"Bye, Mum!" Janet heard Anna call back before the front door was slammed shut.

Janet smiled. She was very lucky to have such a wonderful husband and daughter. She picked up George's newspaper and carried it through to the living room. Depositing it on the coffee table, Janet heard the car start outside. Looking out of the window she saw George's car pulling out of the driveway. Neither the driver nor the passenger saw her at the window, so Janet had no cause to follow her desire and wave to them.

Just as she was about to turn away from the window, Vernon Dursley emerged from next door. Janet's happy mood nearly vanished entirely n the spot. Mr Dursley waddled up to his car and somehow managed to wedge himself inside. Janet resisted the urge to scowl as he pulled out, pausing only at the end of the road before driving away.

In Janet's humble opinion, the Dursley family was the worst thing to happen to Little Whinging. In general, the town was a lovely, quiet suburban town where children could be brought up. Janet and George had moved into number six, Privet Drive when Anna was three years old and had been there the five years since. Two years ago, Vernon and a pregnant Petunia Dursley moved into number four. Janet had disliked them with a passion since the moment they met.

Vernon Dursley was a pompous man whose eating habits left much to be desired, while Petunia was the nosiest little gossip that Janet had ever met. When their son, Dudley, had been born, Janet thought that perhaps parenthood would knock some decency into them. It hadn't.

Janet shook herself. Thinking about the Dursleys always made her feel dirty. She hurried upstairs to take a shower.

Janet's morning was fairly quiet. She had her shower, got dressed and pottered around the house doing various chores. She called Mavis, as she had promised to do, and had chatted with her rather posh friend until it was time to leave for her hairdresser's appointment. She exited the house and walked quickly past number four, lest Petunia invite her in for a cup of tea. This had happened several times before and was not something Janet was keen to repeat.

At the corner of Privet Drive, Janet noticed a tabby cat perched on the wall. As she was out of sight of number four, Janet couldn't resist leaning down to pat its head.

"Hello, kitty," she said softly, "What's your name?" She felt for a collar but she could find none. Frowning slightly she said, "No collar, eh? Maybe you're a stray."

If it was possible, Janet would have said that the cat raised an eyebrow and shot her a bemused expression. Janet shook her head. She supposed it wasn't a wild, stray cat. It was sitting so still that it had to be domesticated.

"Well, perhaps you're one of Arabella's friends," Janet muttered, "Some of her cats have no collars." She straightened up. "Either way, you're not really my business, are you?"

Janet adjusted her coat a little and set off down the road again. She reached the hairdresser's and had a pleasant chat about nothing at all with the young lady who trimmed, coloured and dried her hair. She left feeling refreshed. The weather had picked up slightly and Janet found herself dawdling on the way home.

As she walked along Privet Drive, she recognised the cat from earlier sitting outside number four. She bent down and scratched its ears.

"You shouldn't sit outside this house," Janet told it quietly, "They're just awful." The cat cocked its head to the side, seeming curious, "Just wait until you see," Janet told the cat. She had the peculiar feeling that the understood exactly what she was saying. She stood up again. "If you feel peckish, come to number six and I'll give you a saucer of milk."

With that, she went home. Shaking the odd feeling the cat had given her she put her coat and shoes in the hall cupboard. She was filling up the kettle when the doorbell rang.

"Petunia!" said Janet, forcing a smile onto her face. She had opened the door to reveal the thin, blonde woman she so disliked.

"Hello Janet," said Petunia smoothly, "I saw you come home and I realised we haven't had a chat for a while. Dudley here was feeling cooped up so I though I'd bring him over here so we could catch up over some tea."

Janet held in her sigh. Petunia had invited herself round and there was nothing she could do. Janet weighed up the situation in her head. These chats were always centred around Janet's faults, but they were never as bad as she expected them to be. If it got too bad, she could always make up some reason to go out. Besides, if she had tea with her now, Petunia would probably leave her alone for another fortnight.

"Come in," she said, holding the door open for Petunia to drag Dudley inside. "Why don't we go into the kitchen?" she suggested, shutting the door.

Petunia led the way to the kitchen, where she sat in a chair with Dudley on her lap. "How have you been, Janet?" she asked.

"Oh, I've been wonderful," said Janet, sitting opposite Dudley, "What about you?"

"The same as ever," replied Petunia quickly, "How is George? Healthy, I hope?"

Janet heard the hope in Petunia's voice. It wasn't hope for George's health, it was hope that he had contracted some nasty disease that she could gossip about.

"Yes, George is very healthy, thank you," said Janet as politely as she could. "How is Vernon?"

"Vernon is doing wonderfully, thank you," said Petunia, "He'll probably be promoted soon," she added, obviously hoping to impress.

"Well, I think George needs to settle into his new position," said Janet, trying to remind Petunia that her husband had been promoted recently.

"Of course. Well done to him," she said, sounding extremely under whelmed. She cast her eyes over Janet's kitchen, looking for faults.

"How is Dudley doing?" Janet said after a few moments. She knew from experience that when Petunia started talking about her son, she would continue singer his praises for at least fifteen minutes without requiring assistance from somebody else.

Fifteen minutes later, therefore, Janet found herself pouring a second cup of tea for the two of them, listening to Petunia winding down.

"Isn't it such a proud moment when they start to walk?" she was saying, looking at her son with proud eyes, "When Dudders took his first steps I called up Vernon at work to tell him the news," she continued without waiting for Janet to reply.

As Petunia continued, Janet regarded Dudley. He had sat still, his pudgy bottom somehow balanced on Petunia's knee, looking around the room dimly. Every now and then he would say something rather obnoxious for a one year old and his mother would coo over him, fussing about until 'Diddykins' was happy. Janet had never seen him so calm and she supposed that his morning tantrum was over with. If she was lucky, Petunia would go home before Dudley began screaming and throwing his juice at the walls – something which she had seen him do at home on several occasions. Janet found herself praying that the Dursleys did not have another child, as it would either be as smothered as Dudley or it would be bullied and degraded from birth for not being as wonderful as its older brother.

"How old was your Anna when she started walking?" asked Petunia.

Janet felt the need to cover her smirk. She knew for a fact that Anna had been younger than Dudley when she started walking. "Eleven months," she replied, "But then, Anna's always been mature for her age."

Petunia's eyes flashed with something indistinguishable before her fake-sympathetic mask fell. "Oh yes, I remember Anna having some tantrums."

Janet nearly laughed. What child doesn't have tantrums every now and then? She heard Dudley nearly every day screaming at his mother. Anna was a remarkably peaceful girl, but she was prone to get upset when denied the chance to go to a friend's house.

"Anna is a young girl," Janet pointed out, "I'd have to be stupid not to realise that it'll mean a few tantrums."

"Oh, I'm sure Dudley will continue to be a gentleman when he grows up," said Petunia certainly, "He doesn't give his mummy any fuss." She reached over and stroked Dudley's chin. Dudley jerked away and glared at his mother.

"Oh, Anna only rarely gives me a fuss," said Janet, "But every now and then she gets upset or does something stupid," she shrugged, "It's all part of growing up."

"Yes, you've no doubt had to keep her in her room and stopped her from seeing her friends," said Petunia, "I don't blame you at all, it's important to discipline your children. I think that if Anna is naughty, you should just stop her pocket money and keep her in for two weeks."

Janet felt that she should be angry at Petunia for trying to tell her how to raise her daughter. However, she simply felt amused that Petunia thought she knew best. Let her come back and say that when Dudley was older. It is impossible to keep a child in their room for two weeks, even with locks on the doors.

"Of course," said Janet, sipping at her tea. "When Anna was younger I just used to confiscate her toys, but now I have to stop her from seeing her friends to teach her a lesson. It seems to be effective, though."

"It must be awful to have a child that misbehaves that much," said Petunia, her smugness apparent.

Janet wanted to laugh. Here was Petunia Dursley, mother of Dudley and wife of Vernon, implying that Dudley was a better child than Anna. Dudley, who constantly threw temper tantrums and already expected everything to revolve around him. Quickly, Janet compared him to her Anna, who had just begun to read Jane Austen at the age of eight and who washed up of her own volition every now and then. Anna, who had never purposefully misbehaved in her life. Janet smiled to herself at the thought of her daughter.

While Janet was thinking this, Dudley had been growing more and more upset at some unknown cause. When he began to thump his hands on the table in his efforts to squirm away from his mother, Janet noticed his pink face and stood up.

"Looks like Dudley is tired," she said quickly, picking up his cup before he could throw it somewhere.

"Yes, he seems so," agreed Petunia, "I suppose I should take him home for a nap." She stood up, balancing her now screaming son on her hip. "Why don't you come next door and continue our chat?" she offered.

Janet shook her head. "I'm afraid I've got quite a few jobs to do around the house," she said, gesturing around the kitchen.

Petunia nodded, wrinkling her nose, "Yes, I see," she said, as though Janet's tasks were blindingly obvious to her.

"Well, it was nice to see you," said Janet as she led Petunia to the front door.

"Yes," said Petunia, "Good luck getting your Anna to behave, now."

Janet smiled benignly as Petunia stepped outside. "Absolutely," she agreed, "Bye bye, now."

Petunia walked off down the drive and Janet closed the door, breathing a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness that's over," she muttered to herself before getting the ironing board out from the cupboard under the stairs.

By the time Anna returned home from school, Janet had put the house in an admirable state. She was in the kitchen when Anna returned, trying to pull a dish from the dark corner of a cupboard.

"Mum, where are you?" she called. Janet could hear her dumping her bag by the door and kicking her shoes into the hall cupboard.

"In the kitchen," called Janet, trying not to dislodge the other saucepans and dishes.

"Have you watched the news at all today?" gushed Anna, "Or have you been into town?"

Janet finally managed to pull out the dish. She stood up and put the dish on the counter. "No, Anna," she said calmly, closing the cupboard with one hand, "What's happened?"

"No one knows, really," said Anna happily, "It's all a mystery! The lady in the bakery said that they'd been there all day, gossiping and causing traffic jams."

"Who's been where all day?" asked Janet, confused, "And why were you in a bakery?"

Anna didn't even have the grace to blush. Her face was flushed pink with excitement and Janet could see that she was practically bubbling with energy, with a desire to tell someone about whatever it was she was saying.

"Oh, Becky's mum stopped at a bakery on the way home, Mum," she replied dismissively, "But that's not important at all, what's important is tha-"

"I'll decide what's important, young lady," said Janet, her mothering side kicking in reflexively, "You can't stop at the bakery on the way home! You'll spoil your appetite for dinner!"

"Mum!" wailed Anna, "Will you just listen to me? Please?" Janet smiled. Anna could ignore a scolding without batting an eyelid. She nodded and Anna launched into a long description.

Anna described how at lunchtime, they'd seen owls flying through the sky and been curious. She described how on the way home, on the walk across Little Whinging, she and her friends had seen any amount of oddly-dressed people standing in groups and whispering excitedly. When asked what classified as 'oddly-dressed' these days, Anna replied with an excited bounce:

"Cloaks, Mum! They were wearing cloaks! One weird little man was wearing a bright green one! And he kept tripping up and hugging people and being all happy! He was really old as well! The lady in the bakery said he'd bought a cake from there earlier and had kept telling her that it was a wonderful day, that nothing bad could happen on this day."

Janet frowned. "Do you think it's some sort of post Halloween party?" she asked.

"No, it's not," said Anna quickly. "That's what we thought at first. Ian said 'Happy Halloween' to one of them and they just frowned and said 'It's not Halloween, it's November first' and walked off."

Janet frowned as Anna paused for breath. "Well maybe it's a charity fund-raiser."

Anna shook her head. "They weren't carrying buckets or collecting money," she said. "We don't have a clue what's been going on, Mum. Has there been anything on the TV or the radio?"

"I've not listened to the radio, but there was nothing on the television when I watched earlier," answered Janet.

Anna sighed. "It's a complete mystery," she said, her eyes dancing as she thought of all the possible explanations.

"Well, why don't you go change out of your uniform and then check the radio yourself," suggested Janet.

"What time is Dad home tonight?" asked Anna.

"The usual, I suppose," said Janet, "Why do you ask?"

"I bet he saw them in town." With that, Anna turned and flew upstairs.

When George came home, it was to his daughter thumping down the stairs, talking endlessly about some strange people she had seen and a delicious smell wafting through the hallway. George directed his babbling daughter towards the source of the smell.

"Hello, dear," smiled Janet warmly as they entered the kitchen. "Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes." Anna and George shared a grin.

"What were you saying, Anna?" asked George a moment later.

"Well," she said immediately, launching into the tale of the strange people in town. "Did you see them, Dad?" she asked eagerly.

"I'm afraid not, no," he replied, "I was told about them by some people who live in the town, though. Apparently they caused some dreadful traffic jams."

"Do you know what else happened today that was strange?" Anna interrupted loudly, "There were owls flying overhead. Loads of them. There were at least twenty at lunchtime, we counted! Why were there owls everywhere?"

"I don't know, Anna," sighed Janet, "But owls flying in daytime is quite odd. I don't think I've ever even seen one at night."

"I certainly haven't," said George, "But I was listening to the radio on the journey home, and there's been a whole series of strange events up and down the country. The presenter was saying it was a coincidence, but I'm not quite sure. I mean, how often do fifteen unexplained things happen on the same day? These strangely-dressed men, the owls, there was one report of a flying car, or some such thing. I think something might have happened that we don't know about."

"I suspect so," said Janet, "If everything Anna says is true."

"Of course it's true," said Anna, "Why would I lie about something as cool as this?"

"Heaven knows," said Janet before directing the conversation away from Anna's bizarrely-dressed people. "Mavis phoned, George, she and Alan will be delighted to join us for luncheon on this Friday."

George raised an eyebrow. "Luncheon?" he asked sceptically, "Are you hosting some kind of Gala?"

"Her word, not mine," said Janet, getting up to check on the Lasagna.

Anna went to bed at half past nine, while Janet and George stayed up reading and doing the crossword in the living room for a while longer.

"Are you coming to bed, George?" asked Janet after yawning for the fourth time. She stretched and moved to pull the curtains. Out of the window, Janet thought she saw a glimpse of the tabby cat of the morning sat on number four's wall. Apparently it was perfectly able to go the whole day without moving or feeding.

"Absolutely not," said George, "I can't make out this ruddy clue and I won't be able to sleep until I've got it."

Janet shut the curtains, discarding thoughts of the cat, and turned around. "Well, I'm going up. Turn off the light and lock the door when you come up?"

George nodded absently and Janet left him to it. His head was bent low over the page, his eyes fixed so hard on the last clue that it was a miracle there was no hole burnt through it. Janet closed the door of the living room softly and made her way upstairs.

She changed, washed her face, brushed her teeth and hair and climbed into bed. The clock on George's bedside table read 23:14. Janet hoped George would work out his clue soon, as Janet didn't want to be woken up at some ungodly hour as he clambered into bed with cold feet. She curled up, facing the window. Around the curtain's edges there was a distinct orange glow from the streetlights. Janet closed her eyes and let herself drift away towards sleep.

Suddenly, as though no time had passed, Janet's eyes flew open. Beside her, George shifted and Janet flinched at his cool toes. In the complete darkness, Janet could hear George sniffling and snorting slightly as he always did. He was neither awake nor asleep at the moment, but that strange void in between. Janet smiled. She liked the fact that she knew his sleeping pattern. She rolled towards the window, away from George, and made herself comfortable.

Janet frowned. It was pitch black, yet her eyes were open. There was no orange glare coming from behind the curtains. Perhaps there was a power cut. She turned to see if George's alarm clock was still working. In the dark, its glow-in-the-dark display read 00:02. No power cut.

Janet's brow crinkled as she tried to think of another reason the streetlights wouldn't be working. She couldn't think of one. For a few minutes, she decided that it didn't matter all that much, as Privet Drive was the last place anyone would commit a crime or perform such an activity that required absolutely no light. Janet closed her eyes and tried to sleep again.

The sound of a motorbike penetrated the wall of the house. It sounded as though it was in a nearby street, but it was getting closer. Janet kept her eyes closed as she listened to it getting closer and closer until it stopped. Janet could have sworn that it was directly outside the house. Why was there a motorbike outside in the middle of the night? Janet considered all her neighbours. None of them were the motorcycle types. She sincerely doubted that Vernon Dursley was having some sort of midlife crisis and taking night-time trips on a motorbike. The image Janet received from this thought made her chuckle.

The voices she then heard, murmuring quietly and mixed in with strange, dog-like howls, stopped her chuckles. Her eyes flew open and she swung herself out of bed. She moved slowly to the window, pulling the curtains apart carefully. Outside, the world appeared to be as dark as inside Janet's bedroom. There was nothing she could see, not even the shapes of the buildings across the road. Janet shook her head. Still, nothing appeared in her vision. The motorcycle noise began again, and Janet squinted, looking left and right for the bike her hearing told her should be right in front of her. This time, the motorbike seemed to be getting further away.

Feeling very confused, Janet turned back to her bed. She held out an arm, trying to feel for the edge of the bed, and inched forward. The moment her outstretched fingers met the soft linen of her duvet, orange light flooded through the window. Janet froze. Her shadow fell across the bed and she could see George, his mouth open, sleeping on the far side.

She turned again, even slower, and approached the window. She scanned the road, seeing absolutely nothing out of place. She looked twice, three times. The neighbours all had their own curtains closed, no motorcycle in the street. Janet shivered at the eerie stillness and reached out to close the curtains. One last thought popped into her mind as the curtains closed: the tabby cat was gone from the Dursleys' front garden wall.


End file.
